


Count

by lonelysailer



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Murder, and i mean REALLY minor like who even is that guy, gotta add that 'mentions of Trent Ikithon' tag my friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 09:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19764976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelysailer/pseuds/lonelysailer
Summary: There is a man, Bren notices soon enough, always posted outside his door. A man that keeps his back too straight for comfort, isn’t bothered by the loudest of screams, and flinches at the smallest sounds.





	Count

The last week has been hell.

There’s an incessant storm pounding at his head, and it’s worse than anything, worse than drowning, worse than bleeding, worse than the room with the black tiles.  
Every moment he closes his eyes - which is all the time, because he knows better than to stay too long with his eyes open, here - there’s something new, something he didn’t know, something he hadn’t noticed, something he didn’t _remember_ , and it was... No, not torture. He knows torture. This is much worse.  
It’s been 8 days, and Bren is just about done sorting through his memories.

The orderlies still think nothing of his newfound state of confusion, because he _is_ confused, and he has not been faking the outbursts of panic and fear that rip at his throat like claws. “He’s just a little worked up.” they say. “Bring some sedatives.” they say.  
Bren plays along, and only pretends to fall asleep, because the cotton is gone from his head and he can _think_ again, _lie_ again, _convincingly not-drink from a cup_ again, and they don’t suspect a thing.

There is a man, Bren notices soon enough, always posted outside his door. And there are scrapes on the floor next to his bed, where another cot was, and two bedside tables.  
Bren realizes, grimly, that he’s alone in a room meant for two, and that the man outside the door keeps his back too straight for comfort, isn’t bothered by the loudest of screams, and flinches at the smallest sounds.  
He almost wants to call it _special treatment_.

Bren thinks for another two days.  
The fear of not finding anything about the past few…past… _he doesn’t know how long it’s been_ , and it’s terrifying. Terrifying to not know if there’s any chance of _him_ walking through the door at any moment, and realizing that this scared little boy _knows_.  
He does not want to take that chance.

The nurses and doctors do not speak with the man. They do not even acknowledge the man’s existence, really. It makes Bren wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s a way for him to have a minute alone with the guard.  
_Really_ alone.  
Alone enough to put on his clothes and walk out the door.  
Bren reaches out, lets his weight do the work, and tumbles off his bed. 

_“What worth are you,”_ says the horrible voice in his head, _“if you can’t handle a single rat lashing out at you?”_  
  
He is the rat, now, and as if it were scripted, the man turns and peers in the room through the slot on the door.  
He makes no move to call for help, and he’s in the room in a second, with the door closed behind him.  
Bren can see dark eyes burning holes right through him. _Waiting_. He stays immobile on the ground, catatonic, careful to not give himself away as he takes in the sight of hair cropped far too short and wrappings hiding under perfectly pressed sleeves.

For a moment, Bren thinks it’s all a trick.  
The man dips down, one knee on the floor, and reaches for him, slowly, like you would with a wild animal, and it can’t possibly be that easy, can it?  
The hand reaches under him, lifts his back off the ground like you would with a sack of grains, carefully expecting the weight to push down against your arm, and _that_ is when Bren springs to life.

The lack of weight causes the man to lose his balance, and Bren pounces on him, hand immediately slapping the man’s mouth shut. No sound, no attention, no _magic_ \- he snatches the other man’s arm out of the air, and presses down at the most uncomfortable angle this position allows for. There’s an ugly whine pushing its way past Bren’s hand, and he snarls in return.

A muffled crack fills the room the moment Bren dips his head and slams it against the man’s nose, and the whining gets louder, and he can’t _have that_ , so he shifts, and his knees are what’s keeping the man’s arms still, now. Bren gets a free hand out of it, and it immediately finds its place around the man’s throat, and squeezes.

There’s something bubbling in the back of Bren’s head, but he stops the incoming thoughts in their track, and just _executes_.  
The man’s trachea cracks under the pressure, and his eyes are red, red, _redder_ , and Bren counts the seconds it takes for him to stop moving, and then counts some more, just to be sure, in time with the cracks of the man’s skull against the floor.

His skin feels pierced by a thousand needles, and the sense of urgency becomes overwhelming- he just killed a man. He just killed a man who is just like him, and it’s only right, _it’s the only way_ , how could he ever have escaped without this man alerting _him_?  
He did what he had to.  
He did what he had to.

He rifles through the man’s clothes with the attention of a scholar pouring over a text, except the library’s on fire and he needs to _go_. He grabs the focus, the amulet, puts on clothes that are too loose on him and covers it all with the coat.  
Bren blinks, and the frantic beat in his chest picks up even more. The silence around him is deafening, and it takes him a full 10 seconds to open the door without making a sound.

It’s 1:57 am, and Bren is ready to run.

**Author's Note:**

> People really believe they can bring up Bren and his miraculous escape from the asylum without realizing I constantly think about it, uh.


End file.
